Sex Says(4)

The little inspiration lightbulb went off inside my head, and thanks to the saddest chick in San Francisco, I knew exactly what this week’s column would be about.

Hallelujah!

I almost went over and kissed her right on the mouth, but I realized that would’ve been a little awkward. I mean, she was in mourning, and it’s surprisingly hard to kiss someone with a frown on their face.

Howard strode through the kitchen doors with fresh coffee and my toast, not to mention a smile that screamed, Hello, world! My name is Howard, and I had sex last night!

“Here ya go, Lola girl,” he singsonged as he set my breakfast down in my front of me.

“Thanks, dude.”

He winked and started to head toward the booths with a check in his hand.

“Psst,” I whispered. “Howard.”

He stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow in my direction.

I gestured for him to come closer, and he followed.

“Whose check is that?” I asked in a hushed tone.

An amused smirk crested his lips, making the laugh lines below his nose more pronounced. “Considering there is only one other set of customers in here, I’m going to say it’s for the booth of girls over there by the window.”

I looked around the diner and realized he had a point.

“Give me a break,” I muttered. “I’m going on twenty-four hours without sleep, and I’m on a deadline.”

He chuckled softly.

I snatched the check out of his hands.

“I’m paying for their breakfast this morning,” I whispered. “Oh, and box up that coconut cream pie twirling around in the dessert display case, too. That sad chick is probably going to need it tonight.”

He quirked a brow. “That table just gave you column material, didn’t they?”

“Give me a little credit,” I retorted. “I’m a nice girl who likes to do nice things.”

Okay, so maybe it was a little bit of both. I was a nice girl, but I was also a girl on a deadline. And in an evil sort of way, a little glad sad sack by the window was frowning into her blueberry muffin.



Okay. Okay. It’s true.

Sometimes, deadlines really did hold the power to suck your soul straight out of your body. But at least I’m trying to counter that by sending sad face home with the best coconut cream pie in San Francisco.

I mean, I get a little credit for that, right?



Once I paid their bill and finished my toast, Operation Stay Employed commenced.

A different kind of motivation filtered through my veins at the visualization of Louie and me on the cold streets.

That’s right, column. Get ready to be my bitch.





I’m really good at being chased by the police.

At least, I used to be.

On top of buildings, through alleys, up and down the steep hills of San Francisco—even in a boat out in the Bay once. San Francisco was a playground, and I was the most athletic kid on it. That is, if athletic meant criminal and playground meant place to perpetrate my crimes.

I’d had a pretty good track record of finding myself in that particular pickle about once a week from ages eighteen to twenty-nine. Thankfully, during that time, I’d managed an equally winning record of getting away. It’s amazing how many people will let you talk, run, or sashay your way out of something if you act like you know what you’re talking about.

But for the last two years, my family had been trying to get me to reform—something my sweet mother called growing up and my traditional father called about damn time. I guess they were tired of close calls and endless worry, and most likely, expected me to have something to offer when it came time to cough up money for their nursing home.

As far as I was concerned, I was already grown up.

I just didn’t live my life the way the majority of people, including my family, saw fit. I didn’t wear a suit or carry a briefcase, and most days, I didn’t set an alarm clock in the morning. My rules were my own, and that’s the way I liked it.

But my sister was married to the law now, a cop named Cameron Russell, and my parents weren’t the spring chickens they once were. So, for their sakes, I’d toned down some of my wilder moves and channeled that energy into other avenues.

But I had to admit…I missed it.

Breaking into a jog, I timed my steps to the passing trolley and caught the rail on the back just in time to swing myself out to the side and safely on board. Sadly, most people on board didn’t even pick their heads up from their phones.

The passenger closest to me, however, did notice. A woman, probably in her early twenties, seemed surprised by my entrance but not outraged like someone who’d been born to a time with more traditional values.

I’m not psychic and I don’t judge, but people give little clues about their details in the simplest of ways, and this young woman is no different.